Fabletown Harmonics
by Thalaba
Summary: Series of snippets dealing with Fabletown life.
1. Way after the Honeymoon

"…_And remember, if by chance you manage to survive, everything was Jack's fault."_

The raven-haired beauty sat up like a rod, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing in the dimness of her bedroom for a moment before shaking her head and taking a deep, silent breath. Her curved fingers were like talons on the bedspread until she forcibly relaxed and ever so slowly lowered herself back onto the mattress. She was being completely silly. They had long ago learned it was Bluebeard who had sent them off to be assassinated by Goldilocks' revolutionary hands, but even though she occasionally had nightmares about bloody hatchets and screaming car crashes it wasn't horror that woke her up this night.

"What's wrong Snow?"

The former deputy mayor turned her head at the deep rumbling voice. Her husband's eyes were closed, bushy eyebrows slack with one arm thrown over the pillow while his chest tried to breathe through the bed. Bigby may have seemed like a deep sleeper but his senses were always alert, nose dissecting and detecting the slightest change in weather, material, and emotion. Even dreams.

"_I know when you're happy, which is rare; when you're sad; and when you feel desperately lonely—which is all too often."_

She smiled softly and watched as his lips quirked.

"I thought I was finally going to remember…but it was just a dream." As far as she knew neither one of them had been able to recall anything of their time together in the mountains of Seattle before waking to the realization that they actually _were_ together in the mountains of Seattle; their children were the proof that _something_ had happened, but unlike Bigby—who had at least been able to smell their encounter or encounters—Snow had nothing: no scent memory, no tactile memories, no faded markings. Oh well she had plenty new ones to choose from of course. Living here in Wolf Valley with her children and husband, family nearby, Snow was finally willing to believe that happily ever after was a possibility, but every now and then…

"What's wrong Snow?" His dark eyes were open now, gaze searching hers, truly looking at her in a way that her ex-husband wouldn't have known how. She reached over and pushed a lock of brown hair away from his rough cheek.

"Nothing's wrong," she sighed, resting both hands over her flannel covered chest. She wouldn't give up sleeping in comfortable pyjamas. Since their honeymoon he wouldn't stop sleeping nude. "I just don't—Bigby. Do you remember Seattle? All of it?"

"Nope," he stretched, scratching an ear, a yawn tumbling out. "I think that was the nature of the spell." Snow nodded. If Bluebeard had only wished humiliation at the time of his actions the memories would have been crystal clear—and Bigby and Snow wouldn't have been sent to Seattle. Grimble probably would have had to haul them apart in the front lobby. "Is that what you were dreaming about?"

"…I thought it was. But it was just a jumble. We're in the Woodland and suddenly we're hiking; the blanks are never filled in." Bigby rubbed his chin, leaning up on one solid elbow as Snow continued looking at the ceiling.

"Does that bother you?" He asked even though she knew he could probably gage her answer and it warmed her heart. He didn't assume things about her anymore—though she could grudgingly admit to herself he had been right on several issues before—and she appreciated it. With all his strength and skill, with his ability to read her like a book, she never felt like someone on display. Not with Bigby.

"What bothers me is that I can't remember how it felt."

"…What?" His brows had come together, a confused smirk playing along his mouth. Snow sighed and briefly closed her eyes, opening to stare down at the rise and fall of their bedspread.

"Bigby…You know that since my divorce I hadn't…And when we did…"

"Yeah?" There was a slight gruffness to the one syllable prompt. She couldn't blame him, after all who wants to have their name and their wife's ex-husband's name used in the same sentence when talking about sex? But that gruffness had never quieted Snow before.

"Well there are centuries between!" she hissed, hands slapping down on the sheets. "One moment I'm a born-again virgin and the next I'm pregnant with seven children and I don't even get the benefit of knowing whether or not I enjoyed it?! Why are you—Stop it. Bigby! Stop laughing!" Her husband's throaty chuckles echoed off their bedroom walls, his jaw tensed in effort to not become a cackling idiot. It had begun as a snort but now Bigby had half his perpetually scruffy face pressed into his pillow.

"Aw Snow," he took a breath. "_That's_ what keeps you awake at night? C'mere." He had lifted a large hairy arm, draping it around Snow's small waist. "C'mere!" He dragged her across the sheets, bringing her back to his chest and nuzzling her head into the crook of his shoulder. "I knew you were crazy when I married you but." He received an elbow to the gut but knew she was smiling. Snow rolled her eyes and leaned into his warmth, sighing pleasantly as one broad hand moved beneath her pyjama top to rub circles on the sleepy skin of her stomach. Her feet inched back to twine with his; Bigby's feet—well Bigby himself was always warmer than she. Snow could feel his lips graze the back of her head, his chin dig affectionately.

He was a good man. Their children were safe and they adored him even after his absence—maybe even more because of it. He loved her with a will that could be intimidating, and wherever he travelled he always came back. Bigby always came back.

Those formerly tobacco stained fingers dipped down passed the waist of her pants to briefly caress the roundness of her hip, the tilt of her pubic bone, to begin a dance within the dark wiry curls that protected her womanhood. Her husband had spent two solid weeks mapping and tracing and tasting—this little nest of hair on her pale body while he was covered with it. He tugged gently, twisting and combing through, as his mouth fell forward while her head arched back. Open-mouthed kisses fell along her throat as far as Bigby could reach, teeth nipping unhurriedly, shallow beard scraping her skin pink; Snow snuggled further into her husband's body, gasping softly as his fingers finished their introduction and delved deeper into her moist folds, his thumb starting a deliberate circle around her awakened clit.

Snow's hands had been caressing and light against her husband's wrist, and now one moved up to tangle in his earthy locks to urge his mouth steady upon her neck; she rubbed her cheek against his. It was always intimate with Bigby. There had been many times together Snow would describe as "wild" but it was never "fucking" with her husband; she felt too special to place that sort of label on their relations. They were too close for her to not feel the effects of Bigby's own arousal but he wasn't pushing his release, only silently demanding her own as his fingers continued to move. Her juices sucked around his digits as first one and then another became sheathed inside her, moving and curling to press repeatedly over the bunched spot of flesh which made her toes clench and nails scrape and body scream how much she loved him. But Snow wasn't loud, and while her body reacted to the fireworks churning within her, her mouth simply opened to breathe deeper, faster, while a moan echoed from her panting chest.

Bigby held her tightly as her body settled, tremors rising and falling through her thighs and abdomen, while the man behind her began to chuckle again.

"Did you enjoy that?" He spoke into the skin below her ear, into her veins and muscles and sensitive flesh. Snow swallowed, her breath slowing.

"Always."

"Well there's your answer."

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**A/N:** I've lately become obsessed with the wonderful series that is Fables but as I have yet to read past Sons of the Empire I don't know if the topic of what happened during Snow and Bigby's mutual "blackout" has been discussed in detail, hence my little foray into smut :) Also, I'm not sure yet if this story is a one-shot or the start of a series of one-shots.

**Disclaimer:** Selected text comes from Fables: Storybook Love. I am not Bill Willingham nor do I have any connection to the Fables comics/graphic novels. This story is for entertainment purposes only.


	2. Hansel

**A/N:** This is a complete AU for my "murderous" challenge in sadechalenge over on LJ. It talked about burning someone alive and of course my mind went in this particular direction. So some warnings, hypocrisy being largest amongst them. I'm not particularly happy with the ending but the damn thing just wouldn't finish!

Mollyscribbles—I don't know if you got my message but I did not receive your review, nor am I in the habit of deleting reviews no matter what form they take, flame, compliment, etc.

Selected passages are from _Fables: Sons of the Empire_.

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From the beginning it had always been Hansel and Gretel, and Hansel always knew best.

Their wicked parents had little use for two children such as them, their poverty and ignorance making them unable to see the Gifts their children truly were: the sister with a face and heart moulded for goodness, purity, and gentleness, who would share her meagre portion of crust with the wild creatures that surrounded their hut dwelling heedless of Hansel's warnings in her naivety of animals and their savage nature; the brother who was strong and smart and protected his sister with every fibre of his being, who resolutely led Gretel down God's righteous paths—the safest paths.

Her passive spirit would have been no match for the hard nature of their parents so it was Hansel's face Gretel saw last at night, reaffirming that tomorrow would be a new glorious day to live and serve the Lord. Gretel, in her kindness, would never have known to save herself from that Witch in the Black Forest; it was Hansel that had seen God's will be done and sent that bride of evil back into the flames from whence she came. Gretel's innocence would not have favoured well against that first onslaught of Goblin spawn, thus it was Hansel's will and God's approval of his actions that brought the brother and sister to New Amsterdam safely.

Hansel could see that in protecting Gretel God's desires were made apparent. Necessity had made him leave Gretel with the non-believers and deserters of the true Faith—the self-same Witch in their company readily showing how far the Fable community had fallen away from Divine favour—but with her physical safety assured Hansel could concentrate on his debt to the Saviour and begin ridding the world of the Enemy's blasphemous disciples and those who cavorted willingly despite the perfect nature of God's love. He travelled far and wide in the simple Mundy world, rooting out the Worm's who were cursing the lives of the God-fearing populace, noting how far and deep evil had spread in these plain nations, how unchecked their women were—much like his step-mother and that Witch and even Miss White who thought to keep men like him from completing God's divine tasks.

"_Being in the neighbourhood for the first time in years, we should have known he'd come for a visit."_

It was during his time in Salem that Hansel was reminded most forcefully of the first duty he had taken and of which he had let almost slip away. At night, the purple lolling tongues and bulging eyes of the Heretics who thanked Hansel for his Judgement as he slept suddenly changed to his beloved sister, a disembodied head of angelic golden curls and wet eyes begging to know why Hansel had forsaken her. They had been separated for so long and Hansel immediately saw the truth in this Holy Vision: he had left his own flesh and blood amidst Abominations and liars, people who encouraged sorcery and all manner of vile behemoths, creatures that could turn her impressionable mind towards depravity and sin.

Hansel directly left to fetch his sister, surprised and hurt at the time Gretel spent in avoiding his plea to leave the Fable colony and rejoin God's Chosen, and disappointed with himself in cowing to her conditions to be able to bring certain tomes of her choosing—not Biblical—along on their journey. In the end Hansel knew he could persuade Gretel to abandon such follies and interests as herb lore and astronomy; it was more important to have her beside him and to know that her soul would remain forever pure.

"_Hansel's fame slowly transformed to infamy. Finally he dropped out of sight entirely."_

Unfortunately, Hansel had to gradually curtail his Divine Mission, Gretel's quiet stubbornness being incredibly vexing, disturbing, and sometimes pressing the bonds of brotherly patience. But they were together again, alone in the Mundy world but as close as they had been as children; again his face was the last she saw at night, his word the last word as they prayed by the fire. It frequently played on Hansel's conscience, the numerous souls he was abandoning in this private work of his own making. In the end, however, it would all be worth it if he could save his Gretel's soul.

His beautiful, kind, pure sister.

He watched Gretel peruse the theological regime he had set out for her study and kept his pain silent as it was clear she did not express the same diligence or appreciation to his texts as to those she had brought out of the Community, but envy was a sin and in time Gretel would come around to his persistence. They only had each other after all.

Hansel forsook his own spiritual enlightenment, concentrating entirely on Gretel's progress. They took long walks through the American Colonies, wherever he decided they settle for a time, purging their bodies as well as their minds—though he had been expressing his devotion through the blessed act of flagellation for many years, Hansel knew Gretel's spirit would not be ready for such devotion. He had, however, decided that fasting should be introduced into their practice and eagerly tread the hall to Gretel's small bower in their tidy hovel to inform her of this gracious new event…And was met with a sight to compel bile to rise within himself, a sight that filled him with a rage he had not experience since Salem.

Gretel's eyes were filled with horror as she stared at Hansel over her bare shoulder, soot from the hearth rubbed in dark streaks across her fair cheeks, a knife and a cup of water in her raised hands. The objects clattered to the floor as Hansel began to move, Gretel dropping as well as a sob was wrenched from her throat.

"Oh Hansel! Oh brother! I'm sorry! I—I'm so sorry! Frau Totenkinder…"

Hansel felt himself shake, forced his hands to remain from wrapping around her neck and putting out the spirit in those large wet eyes. How dare she! To welcome Satan into their own home! To initiate the heathen rite! He picked up a thatched chair and threw it at the wall, breathing harshly as the pathetic piece of furniture splintered. She was still crying, shaking and apologizing, and Hansel watched momentarily while the fire behind her flared and burned. He shook his head and took a blanket from her bed to cover her nakedness. Gretel held on to his hand desperately, which Hansel silently allowed, even though he knew he should throw her off, condemn her, smash her pretty little blond head into the hearthstone. But as always God had a purpose and Hansel could see now that he had been far too easy on Gretel. That Witches influence ran deep, and now so would the act of contrition.

Hansel made Gretel burn her books, made her rip out every page and toss it into the fire; her drawings, dried herbs followed, and though her tears did not cease Hansel—for her sake—could not let himself be gentle. He slapped her, praying out loud that the Lord would forgive her trespasses and foul allegiances and see what she did now as penance. As the beginning of her penance.

"_Oh dear God! Satan, unable to attack me directly, strikes at me through my own __**sister**__!"_

After locking Gretel in Hansel slept fitfully, tossing as his dreaming mind kept playing over the night's terrible events, mixing them and turning them over in his head. He replayed opening her bedroom door, his actions now filled with a great sense of urgency where before there was promise and neutral anticipation. She was still by the fire, no knives or cups or books but still painted and still shockingly bare. There was no horror when Gretel turned to him this time, her golden curls glowing in the light of the hearth and offsetting another gleam within the spheres of her now all-knowing orbs. All breast and white skin. She walked to him sedately, knelt at his feet and slowly began to undo the buttons of his trousers, Gretel's warm fingers stroking his manhood to life while Hansel's own delved inside the silkiness of her hair urging her to take him in her mouth.

Hansel woke swiftly, a ghastly heat stealing away from his goose-bumped limbs while the consequences of his demon's vision dried to a sticky cold paste across his shame. Succubus! Whore! He had failed! How could he have failed his own sister?! He had waited too long and the damage had already been done to her! She was a child of the Evil One now, a devil's concubine!

Ripping his hands through his own dark locks, the beginnings of hateful tears brimming in his narrow eyes, Hansel faced his window, the dark, black night his only companion. Then, as if God Himself had lit the way, a blossoming bright full moon pushed aside the clouds sending pure light directly upon Hansel's brow. And he knew then what was to happen, what should have happened long ago. All was not lost; there had always been a plan for him, a meaning. God _had_ sent him to Fabletown to collect Gretel, _had_ intended Hansel to save his only and beloved sister. Well…to save what was left of her.

Leaving his meagre belongings—they had been touched by evil and would no longer sully his hands—Hansel lipped out into the forgiving darkness, the pure night where only God's eyes watched. The fire caught quicker than he expected, the home he had shared with the sliver of Gretel's soul smoking and glowing before Hansel had made one full circle around with his torch. It was a masterpiece.

Then he heard the screaming, and he knew her soul was at peace.


End file.
